


Pavonated

by promptoisachocoboangel (chalicedungeon)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Sex, secondary character death (nothing explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalicedungeon/pseuds/promptoisachocoboangel
Summary: Merlin manages to get himself banished along with Gwaine in 3x04. Repost from livejournal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic Morgana never returned to Camelot. Gwaine's throwaway comment that he was "protecting" Merlin in 3.04 sort of pinged my interest because Merlin somehow ends up in the middle of everything and he's yet to actually get in real trouble (other than the occasional night in the dungeon, the stocks, and some emotional turmoil). The title means "the color of a peacock" (a fancy way to say blue, really).
> 
>  **Summary** : Merlin manages to get himself banished along with Gwaine in 3x04.  
>  **Warnings** : secondary character death (nothing explicit), sex, shameless use of the "Merlin turns himself into an animal" cliché. Spoilers for 3x04 (a bit of dialogue borrowed from the episode as well).  
> Not much of a plot, unapologetic use of American spellings.
> 
> This was written in 2011. This is a repost from livejournal so I can keep things in one place.

**I: Before**

The last thing Gwaine remembers about his father is the way his cloak crested behind him as he left for war, a blue curl disappearing over the line of the horizon. His mother had gripped his shoulder tight and didn't let go until the speck fading into the trees couldn't be seen at all.

Barely a year later two knights came back with nothing but that very same blue cloak folded into a neat square.

Gwaine's mother had taken him aside that night, drew him up into her arms, and said: “Your father loved you.”

And that was that.

Gwaine remembers his first drink, the bitter flavor of ale coloring the next decade of his life. He remembers his first kiss, eyes the color of sea-foam. He remembers leaving his mother with a peck on the cheek and a promise to come back soon.

He remembers making an appeal to the man that called himself a lord, a noble. Remembers being turned away. He remembers the exact moment when he decided that nobility is what you do, not who you are.

Gwaine remembers most everything else in a dull monochrome, memories the color of dishwater. Detached, too, like looking through dirty glass.

But Gwaine remembers the first time his eyes met Merlin's, eyes the same color as Gwaine's father's cloak. He hasn't seen anything in monochrome since then, just in blueredgoldgreen vibrant.

 

 

 

**II: Then**

“I stepped in to protect Merlin,” Gwaine says, and from that moment they're both damned.

Uther pauses at that, gloved fist closing on nothing. “What exactly does _Merlin_ have to do with this?” he asks, looking down his nose at Gwaine who is still on his knees. The guard on Gwaine's left tightens his hold like he expects a fight.

Just when Gwaine is about to say _nothing_ , Sir Owen beats him to the punch.

“I caught the boy stealing from my chambers,” he says, an insincere frown turning his lips, “and he,” Owen points to Gwaine with a flourish, “attacked me! Accomplices no doubt. I'm sure Sir Ethan will back me up.”  
  
Sir Ethan nods, looking smug for no reason at all.

Gwaine, impulsive ever since he was a child who got into fights with the other boys in his village over words and lies, uses the moment of quiet as a springboard, struggling to his feet. “He's lying!” he shouts, trying to fight against the guards' holds.

“How dare you speak to a knight that way,” is the King's response, his voice carrying over the commotion. “I should have you executed for this.”

Gwaine makes to speak, but Arthur cuts him off, making a motion with his hand.

“Father, this man saved my life! And Merlin...” his words trailed off, like his tongue didn't want to shape around the damning syllables that had come from Sir Oswald just minutes before.

“For a commoner to attack a nobleman... for a servant to _steal_ from a guest in this castle. It's unacceptable.”

Arthur turns to his father then, hands on his hips, a defensive stance if Gwaine's ever seen one.

“Father, surely you don't–” Arthur pauses, biting his lip. “Merlin has been a part of this household for years, I'm sure he had a reason for being in Sir Oswald's chambers. And Gwaine saved my life, he should be rewarded for that, do you not agree?”

Uther doesn't respond, just turns to face Gwaine, his forehead creasing with anger and bone-deep exhaustion.

“You are both banished from Camelot. If you ever return you'll pay with your lives,” he says, and then they're dismissed with nothing more but “You have until dawn to leave the city.”  


\---

 

“What do we do? We can't leave before the melee,” Merlin says even before they step over the threshold into Gaius's chamber. “There has to be a way to prove that Sir Ethan and Oswald aren't who they claim to be.”

Gaius grabs Merlin round his skinny arms, grounds him.

“You won't be able to help the prince if you're dead, Merlin.”

Merlin opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again, but doesn't speak. After a few tries, he just huffs and pulls himself out of Gaius's hold and disappears up the stairs to his room. Gwaine stays put, still leaning against the wall.

“He'll come around,” Gaius says, tidying his work table (tidying as in moving things about until everything is in a new place). Looking up from rearranging vials full of ominous looking liquid, Gaius finally speaks again. “What will you do?”

Gwaine isn't really sure of the answer to that. He considers going through Mercia, maybe going south or perhaps east. He's not really planned much beyond the next morning.

“I haven't decided,” he says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, “I thought I'd just go where the wind takes me.”

Gaius chuckles at that, gives Gwaine a long look.

“That's no way to live, you know.”

Gwaine would have answered, but at that exact moment Arthur comes barreling through the door, face angry and flushed. Like a mindreader, Merlin comes down from his room just seconds later.

Gwaine isn't sure if he should leave, but Gaius keeps shuffling his potions so Gwaine doesn't move, just feigns disinterest.

“You _idiot!_ ” Arthur says, making his way across the room, “I mean, really, of all the things you finally get in trouble for, _petty theft_?”

“I didn't–” Merlin starts, but Arthur cuts him off.

“I know you didn't,” he says, fingers twitching like he wants to grab hold of something or someone, “For all of the times you've been accused of sorcery,” (Merlin flinches, but Arthur isn't paying attention) “you're banished for theft.”

“Look, sire. Arthur,” Merlin's expression is apologetic, soft. Gwaine suddenly feels like he's intruding.

Gaius must feel that way too, because he takes his leave, mentioning something about the king and his nightly medicine. Gwaine follows, pulling the door closed behind him.

 

\---

 

Arthur leaves like he showed up, red faced and angry. Gwaine had been waiting on the stairs leading to the physician's quarter, picking at an errant piece of string on his breeches, wondering if he should go to the tavern or maybe if he should just leave Camelot and hope the best for Merlin.

He doesn't go to the tavern or leave Camelot, not even after Arthur roughly grasps his shoulder and nods like Gwaine is supposed to understand.

 

\---

 

Morning comes without fanfare, sunlight creeping through Merlin's window just like it did the morning before.

Gwaine wakes before Merlin, but after Gaius. The old man made some kind of porridge for them to eat before leaving, says it's full of things to keep up their energy. When Gaius ladles it into a bowl it clings to the spoon for a long moment before dropping without ever losing its shape.

Merlin looks lost in thought, answering Gaius's questions with nods and grunts.

“Do you have everything you need?” Gaius asks before handing Merlin a satchel full of greenery. He hefts the bag over his shoulder and it knocks against his other things.

Merlin doesn't answer, just lets Gaius pull him into an embrace. If there were any sniffles or heartfelt words exchanged, Gwaine pretends not to hear them.

Gaius walks with them to the castle gates.

“Keep an eye on him, would you?” Gaius says, one hand still on Merlin's arm. Gwaine isn't sure who the question is directed at, but he says he will anyway.

 

\---

 

“You don't need to stay with me, you know.” Merlin says after they've lost sight of the castle walls. “I can take care of myself.”

Gwaine smiles at that, knows it's true.

“But where's the fun in that? I'm always glad to have a drinking buddy, so long as you don't tire of me first,” Gwaine answers, “It usually only takes a few days.”

Merlin laughs at that, clear and true.

“I wouldn't. I won't.”

They fall into a comfortable quiet, leaves crunching under their boots.

“Let's stop here,” Gwaine says after another mile.

Merlin looks at him like he's grown another head. “Here? We aren't even out of Camelot yet!”

“Yes, but how will we help Arthur in the melee if we've left the kingdom?” Gwaine replies. He chances a glance at Merlin then, and Merlin is looking at him with an expression so full of hope that it stops Gwaine in his tracks.

They spend the rest of the morning detailing Gwaine's plan, Merlin telling Gwaine how to get back into the castle without being seen and Gwaine telling Merlin he won't get caught.

 

\---

 

When the time finally comes, Merlin promises to stay at their camp. There's something in Merlin's eyes that says otherwise, but Gwaine doesn't mention it.

“Be careful,” Merlin says just before pulling Gwaine into a kiss.

It's not the kind of kiss that's meant to lead to something else, but there's still a promise in it. Of course, there's also a promise in the torn strip of Merlin's neckerchief that's tied to Gwaine's wrist.

He tries not to think too much about the softness of Merlin's lips or the scratch of the cloth around his arm when he's got a sword in his hand, just _blockparrythrust_ until he and Arthur are the only ones left standing.

 

\---

 

“My father is a stubborn man,” Arthur says after the melee is over. They stand facing each other, alone in the cloister.

Arthur's face is twisted into a grimace, his forehead wrinkled with unhappiness. It makes him look older, like he's seen too much.

“He refuses to rescind his sentence, you must leave by sundown,” Arthur continues, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple.

Gwaine grabs Arthur by the forearm and tries to say to him, _you're a good man, I'll make sure Merlin doesn't get himself killed, take care of yourself._

Arthur nods like he heard it all.

“Thank you,” he says, “you– both of you– will be welcome here when the time comes.”

Then he's gone in a flurry of armor and testosterone.

 

 

 

**III: Now**

It had not been an easy winter that year. With the frost came cold winds from the North and the meager harvest had been only enough for the little border village, but they had all made it through with their lives and families.

Travel slowed to a crawl and the once bustling inn saw few guests from beyond the forests to the East and none from the West. Still, the mead was good and the villagers that lived in town kept the tavern afloat even with the regular flow from over the border just a trickle.

It was enough for Gwaine – a place to hang his coat every night and a warm bed to crawl into. Sometimes he found a feather perched on the sill, window open, but he would always pocket the plume and pretend to never have seen it at all. Sometimes Merlin wouldn't come home until the sun had been down for many hours, but Gwaine knew when to prod and pry and when to kiss away the sadness in Merlin's eyes.

Most of the time they were happy, memories of years long ago buried under promises and tankards of ale.

 

\---

 

When a messenger from Mercia comes through town late one cold evening with a letter from the king demanding a place to sleep for the night no one really thinks much of it. Gwaine has his suspicions, but the ridge of the coin pressed hard against his palm is enough to put his thoughts to rest, at least until Merlin draws him aside to ask in a soft whisper, “What do you think he wants? Bayard, I mean?”

There's another question hidden in his words: _”Do you think it has to do with Arthur?”_ , but Merlin will keep those words to himself until he and Gwaine are alone and the door to their room is locked and closed off from wandering ears.

News of Camelot is easy to come by, but often it's twisted and changed, passed through countless mouths until it's hardly news at all. A missive from a king, though, that would be truth (or at least truth hidden by code and platitudes).

“Don't worry,” Gwaine says, resting a hand on Merlin's shoulder like an unspoken promise, “I'll find out.”

 

\---

 

In the end, getting information from the messenger is easier than Gwaine had anticipated. Giving the man a full tankard of mead on the house and a guarantee of a warm bed and a place for his horse is more than enough.

“On business for Bayard then?” Gwaine asks as he swipes the table in front of the messenger with a damp rag, deftly cleaning around the man's discarded gloves and satchel.

“Bayard?” The man has an eyebrow that even Gaius would be proud of. “Bayard's been dead since the first frost, had a fall and never was right again.”

The man pauses to take a deep swill from his drink.

“I'm surprised the fighting didn't come this way, but you were lucky,” he takes another drink then, finishing the mug in one long pull. Gwaine motions at the girl at the bar and she brings him another tankard. “Many died, but some cousin or something of Bayard's took power. He's sent me to take a message to Camelot, trying to make sure the peace treaty holds.”

Gwaine sits, no longer pretending to clean the table, and nods for the man to continue.

“Since you didn't even know your own king is dead I suppose you haven't yet heard about Uther of Camelot,” he says before leaning forward on his stool, “He just died barely a fortnight ago, I'm not sure if King Offa really wants the treaty to hold, honestly. Not while Camelot is weak.”

Gwaine stands after it's clear the man has little left to say, nodding his head, and takes his leave.

Before going up the rickety stairs to the rooms above the tavern Gwaine makes sure to have a hot bowl of stew sent to the man, along with the promise of as many tankards of drink as he can stomach.

 

\---

 

Merlin reacts exactly how Gwaine suspected he would, hands skittering across the fabric of his breeches and then carding through his hair before settling on his knees.

“We need to warn Arthur,” is all he says, and Gwaine knows there is little point in arguing. Even after so many years, Merlin's loyalty never wavered or faded, and Gwaine has no desire to question Merlin's devotion.

“Of course,” is what Gwaine says, and Merlin bows his head just barely, a smile on his lips.

Even if a little bit of Merlin's heart would always belong to Arthur, Gwaine is still happy because he still has the rest.

Maybe if Gwaine didn't know the depths of Merlin's loyalty for himself he would be jealous. Maybe he would protest or say they shouldn't leave their home, but he knows deep in his heart that if somehow he was in Arthur's place Merlin would come for him, and that's enough.

Merlin thanks Gwaine with bruising kisses down his sternum.

 

\---

 

Two mornings later Gwaine takes Mary, the girl who will be taking care of the tavern while they're away, and gives her a heavy sack of coins and advice on how to keep rowdy bar patrons in check (if he neglects to mention his experience with brawls, Mary is none the wiser). She thanks him with a quick hug and a promise to never let anyone take advantage of her kindness.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, Merlin finally comes out from the tiny building he fancies his physician's office. Gwaine has been outside with two horses packed and ready for their ride to Camelot, idly stroking one on the nose while he waits, watching the early morning bustle.

“Sorry,” Merlin says, taking the apple Gwaine had offered before awkwardly mounting one of the horses. “I had to make sure Alfred knows where everything is.”

Alfred, the gangly boy Merlin had taken as an apprentice a year ago was probably better than Merlin at the actual doctoring (but he doesn't have the advantage of magic), so Gwaine isn't too terribly worried about how he'll fare. Merlin isn't either, but Alfred has a terrible habit of forgetting where everything goes.

As if he'd heard his name, Alfred sticks his head out the open door, waving goodbye before vanishing back into the clinic.

When they had decided to settle down, Merlin had chosen a village with an elderly physician who had an uncanny resemblance to Gaius and had taken to him like a fish to water. When he had died Merlin was the most qualified for the job and it stuck, just like Gwaine's somehow ending up taking over the failing inn and tavern.

They hadn't meant to stay in that same village, but it just happened. One day Gwaine had no home, the next he did. One day he was alone, the next he wasn't. One twist of fate and everything was changed, destiny rewritten.

They had only been there three years, but it was still like leaving the first home Gwaine had known in far too long. Merlin turns to him, sensing his distress.

“You know Arthur isn't his father,” he says, shifting in his saddle to look towards the line of the horizon where the sun is climbing steadily upwards.

“I do know,” is all Gwaine says before mounting his own horse and facing the sunrise.

 

\---

 

Going through the same forest they'd crossed barely three years ago brings all of the memories back to the front of Gwaine's mind. He remembers the night after they'd left under the cover of darkness, the king's decree echoing in his mind. He remembers the way Merlin had been all nerve endings and Gwaine hadn't known where to touch until the moment he knew exactly where to put his hands and mouth. Remembers the intense need to see Merlin smile.

He thinks maybe he fell a little bit in love in this forest. Or maybe it's just the buzz of the rosy sunrise and epinephrine painting his memories.

 

 

 

**IV: Then**

When Gwaine returns from the melee Merlin is in the exact same place. Night is falling and Merlin has built a fire, still unlit. When he sees Gwaine coming through the trees he stands, brushing dirt and twigs from his tunic.

“Is Arthur safe?” he asks, no pretense at all.

“Yes,” is all Gwaine says. Merlin doesn't ask any questions, just grabs Gwaine by his shoulder and pulls him close. He presses kisses along the line of Gwaine's jaw, down his neck and back up.

Then, suddenly as he'd started, Merlin stopped.

“I'm sorry,” he says, dropping his hands from where they had been tangled in Gwaine's hair. “This isn't what you want.”

Gwaine lets out a laugh. “Want? Of course I want.”

Merlin looks at him, letting his eyes linger on the line of Gwaine's mouth. He makes like he's going to move back into Gwaine's space, but then he stops short.

“I'm not doing this to thank you,” Merlin says, pulling his sleeves down over his fingers. “If that's what you think this is then you've got it wrong.”

There's no proper response to that that Gwaine can think of, so he pulls Merlin in by his jacket. It's soft like it's been worn and loved. Gwaine divests Merlin of it gently, folding it and setting it on top of his pack. Then he unwinds Merlin's neckerchief and tugs his tunic off and lets them fall to the ground, not worrying about where they end up.

Merlin is trying his best to get Gwaine in an equal state of undress, but he's having trouble with the laces of Gwaine's breeches.

Gwaine is happy to help until they're both unclothed and spread out on the bedroll Gaius insisted they bring along. (Gwaine wonders if the old man knew this would happen- but then he doesn't really want to be thinking of Gaius at a time like this.)

Then Merlin starts kissing his way down Gwaine's chest and wraps his fingers around Gwaine's cock and there isn't much he's thinking about beyond _yes_ , _want_ , and _more_.

 

\---

 

They spend the next few weeks traveling the border, stopping at the taverns they come across. Most of them look the same, drab and brown. The ale tastes the same at most of them too, bitter and sharp and perfect.

On the nights when the dice roll in their favor (turns out Merlin is surprisingly lucky) they stay in inns. On the nights when the gambling is no good or they've been thrown out for rigging the game they'll share a bedroll in the forest, Merlin sucking marks onto the soft skin of Gwaine's neck.

 

\---

 

Three months into their exile they come across a little town that Merlin says reminds him of home. Gwaine hasn't asked about where Merlin had lived before Camelot, but sometimes when the fire is low and they're all wrapped up in each other he tells stories of his mother and their cottage and the life he had before he'd met the prince.

He never asks for any stories from Gwaine in return, but Gwaine more often than not finds himself offering them anyway.

He tells Merlin about the time he had to go to the next town over for medicine for his mother– his first taste of adventure. He'd been lost in the forest until he suddenly wasn't. It had been the defining moment of his youth, discovering that he could find his own way out– that he didn't need anyone but himself.

When Gwaine had told that story Merlin had remarked that it sounded lonely.

The town was small and close-knit but still friendly, offering a place for two strangers to stay, so long as they could pay.

So Gwaine found a job working in the tavern, keeping the patrons topped off and happy. Merlin found work as the physician's apprentice. For the first time since they had left Camelot Merlin would come home with a real smile on his face.

Quickly they fall into a routine. During the day they go about their work, rarely crossing paths. In the night they fall into bed together, sometimes sharing kisses and sometimes just sleeping. Other times they fuck like it's the first time all over again, Merlin on his knees whispering _“I need, I need.”_

 

\---

 

Gwaine finds out about the magic accidentally.

He finds out in the second autumn of their exile. Merlin was meant to have been long gone to see a sick man on the far side of the town, but instead he was sat on the corner of the bed, whispering to himself.

At the very moment he turns himself into a bird Gwaine walks into their shared room.

Merlin, now a tiny sparrow, lets out a chirp, flaps his wings, and flies out the window.

He doesn't come back for a week.

When Merlin finally comes back he has a week's layer of grime on his face and his tunic is torn at the hem. Gwaine doesn't ask.

“Can I?” Gwaine asks, holding out a wet rag as a peace offering.

Merlin doesn't speak, but he does tilt his face toward Gwaine. It's permission enough.

They sit in silence, the only sound is the water dripping off the cloth back into the bowl after Gwaine soaks it to clean some of the dirt off before going back to gently cleaning Merlin's face.

When he's done he says to Merlin, “It's all right,” and gathers him up into a hug. Then Gwaine laughs, gets up from the bed, and lobs the wadded up cloth at Merlin.

“I thought maybe you'd come to your sense and gotten sick of me.”

It's meant to make Merlin smile, so when there's a twitch at the corner of his lips Gwaine counts it as a success.

“Does Arthur know?” Gwaine asks after a long period of quiet.

He almost thinks Merlin won't respond, but he does, finally. “He will,” he says, the first thing he's said since he got back.

Merlin looks small and alone with his knees pulled up to his chest in the middle of the bed. His chin is tucked between his legs and his eyes are shiny with sadness. It makes something in Gwaine's chest ache so he crawls between Merlin's legs and pulls them apart gently by the ankles until he can fit himself into Merlin's space.

Gwaine takes his hands and puts them both on Merlin's face, thumbs rubbing circles on the soft skin there.

“I was born this way,” Merlin says right when Gwaine says “You can't help who you are.”

Then Merlin leans in and they kiss like it's been years since they last spoke. Gwaine lets Merlin take the lead, lets him rearrange them until Merlin's knees are bracketing Gwaine's hips.

Gwaine moves to take off Merlin's tunic, but then Merlin whispers something unintelligible and their clothes move like they're possessed until there are two pairs of breeches and two tunics (along with sundry other bits of clothing) all draped over the chair and there's nothing but miles of skin under Gwaine's hands.

Merlin is quieter than usual. He doesn't whisper sweet nothings into the skin of Gwaine's chest or make demands, just lets out breathy moans and mouths at Gwaine's neck.

Gwaine moves to get the oil from the table by the bed, but Merlin says “Let me” and then the oil is in his hand.

“Useful,” Gwaine says, and Merlin finally laughs.

Then he's reaching around himself to slick Gwaine's cock and to open himself up and after what feels like too long and not long enough Merlin sinks down down down and Gwaine is lost.

Merlin sets the pace, hard and fast and too much, using his hips and thighs to meet Gwaine's thrusts up. Gwaine holds on to whatever he can grab, fingers twisting in the sheets, closing down on Merlin's thighs, the bones of his hips.

It's over as quick as it started and Merlin comes with a hand on himself, his breath catching. Gwaine doesn't take much longer. After a few erratic motions his toes are clenching on nothing and Gwaine is done.

He pulls Merlin down for another kiss, trying his best to make sure Merlin understands everything he can't say aloud.

 

\---

 

It gets easier after Gwaine finds out about the magic.

Still, there are times when Merlin comes home looking sad and lost and Gwaine tries to make it better the only way he knows how, with his mouth and hands and unspoken promises.

Other days Merlin is happy. He smiles with not just his lips but with his eyes as well, the blue of his irises looking bright. Now instead of stories about his time in Camelot ending in lies they end in tales of how Merlin has used his magic to save the prince or just to cause a ruckus.

It's like a weight has been lifted from Merlin's shoulders, even if it goes right back to being a secret when it isn't just the two of them alone in their little room.

One night Merlin says into the crook of Gwaine's arm, “Some day I won't have to hide it, you know,” and Gwaine really hopes it's true.

 

 

 

**V: Now**

Camelot looks the same.

Gwaine expected it to look different, but nothing has changed. The castle is made of the same stone, the same towers and windows. The people are the same. It even smells the same, like horses, hay and spice.

Merlin looks ready, like he's been waiting for this day since he left. Maybe he has, Gwaine thinks. Maybe Gwaine's been waiting for it too and he hadn't even noticed.

They leave their horses at an inn, giving a few coins to the innkeeper to hold them for the night. Then they go and see Gaius. He tells them everything that's changed since Merlin's last visit. He tells them the things that haven't changed too. Morgana is still missing. Arthur is still a prat (Merlin's interpretation), but he's changed since his father's passing. He's grown up. Merlin says he'll be the judge of that. Lancelot has returned and Arthur has made him a knight (when Gaius mentions the knighting Merlin turns to Gwaine and says, “You'll be a knight too,” like it's already been decided). Gwen is happier now that she isn't so alone without Morgana or Merlin to keep her company.

All bits of news that mean nothing to Gwaine, but it means something to Merlin so he listens, files away everything he learns.

“Sleep,” Gaius says after he's fed them bread and a thin soup, “We'll go see the king tomorrow.”

That night Gwaine dreams of knighthood and court sorcerers and kings. He dreams of Arthur bathed in light and Merlin and himself standing at his side. He dreams of war and battles and Albion united, of round tables and swords. All of his dreams have one constant: Merlin. Always Merlin is there with Gwaine never far behind, together in Camelot.

 

\---

 

Arthur looks like a king ought to on his throne, regal and proud.

His crown looks like it's been there since birth, resting perfectly on his head. His robes are the color of blood, Pendragon red.

Merlin speaks first.

“Arthur,” he says.

 

 

 

 

**End**


End file.
